The Lost Isle
by cslev
Summary: My sequel to the movie "Return of the King"/Lord of the Rings-Frodo sails to the Blessed Realm; not book-based. Includes a romantic interest for Frodo, my own original female character.
1. Chapter 1 The Parting of Friends

_**THE LOST ISLE Chapter 1 The Parting of Friends **__[edited version_

Coming at last to their destination, the four travelers slowed their steps, staring in awe at the beautiful scene before them. Having never gazed upon open waters before, they stood feasting their eyes upon the crescent shaped harbor and surrounding mountains, all bathed in the unearthly light of a golden sunset. Waters rippled toward them in pale aqua waves, sparkling as if diamonds floated upon their surface. Overhead, seagulls soared in lazy circles, framed by lavender hued mountains cloaked in light mist. The air was fresh and invigorating, stirred by gentle breezes, interrupted only by the occasional call of a gull. The hobbits stood like statues as they attempted to absorb the beauty surrounding them. And then Bilbo straightened to his tallest height as if awakening from a dream. With a delighted laugh he started down the grey weathered steps toward the distant ship which was waiting at the dock. Aboard its decks passengers could be seen lining the railings, the tallest looking remarkably like Gandalf with his long white hair and beard. At the gangplank a man and woman faced them in obvious expectation.

"Hullo, hullo!" Bilbo shouted to them, glancing back over one shoulder as his steps slowed. His expression softened momentarily with a look of bittersweet regret. "Goodbye, dear hobbits," he sighed, raising his hand. "Thank you for the lovely cart ride here, and for everything…but I must be off now—be well!"

Watching in silence as he continued descending the stairs, Sam turned his head to meet Pippin's startled expression. Upon receiving his shrug and noting the raising of his brows, Sam turned to his other side where Merry offered a bemused expression before looking back toward Bilbo. They had planned for months to escort the old hobbit to the Grey Havens, thinking it a fitting destiny for one hobbit who clearly belonged among the elves. It seemed only right that he should accompany them on their final voyage to the Blessed Realm. Yet never had they thought to prepare themselves for the reality of never seeing him again. As was his custom in times of need, Sam looked to Frodo for an explanation, studying his friend's profile as he waited for him to answer.

To Sam's keen eye Frodo showed no reaction as he watched his dear uncle leave him behind. If there had been any change to note, Sam would have said that Frodo paled a bit more than his usual, or perhaps it was just the bright golden light making it look that way. After three years of being home in the Shire, unfortunately Frodo had remained pale and drawn, even more quiet than ever.

_A shadow of his former self,_ Sam thought with a frown. And although he was long on patience when it came to his best friend, he found it difficult to watch and wait as no word issued forth from Frodo's lips. Still he waited, finally rewarded when he detected a very slight furrow upon Frodo's brow, though he said and did nothing. Could it be that in his grief, Frodo had nothing to say?

Pip's hand clamped down upon Sam's shoulder as Merry moved to Frodo's other side. Gathering close, the hobbits gazed toward the ship, noting the spring in Bilbo's step as he left them behind. His shout of joy propelled him forward the rest of the way until he stood before Elrond and Lady Galadriel, quickly dipping into a hobbit bow. The elves' greetings echoed up toward them, the sound funneled by the canyon-like landscape surrounding the harbor. Sam shook his head in disgruntled acceptance, watching Bilbo spread wide his arm to allow the elves to board ahead of him. Then taking two steps onto the plank, he gripped the rope with one gnarled hand and lifted the other toward them, waving once to them.

"Frodo, my lad, come along!" Bilbo called, startling them all. "Mustn't keep everyone waiting!"

Staring at Bilbo in disbelief, Sam digested the meaning of his command and quickly glanced toward Frodo. "What for?" he exclaimed, shaking his head and ignoring Frodo's stonelike appearance. When he received no response he glanced at Merry and Pip, who were staring at Frodo in obvious confusion. Sam shot his gaze back to his friend.

He continued to stare off into the distance, the place between his eyes deepening with concern. Sam watched his lips tighten and though it didn't seem possible, Frodo paled even more. Bracing his hand upon Frodo's good shoulder, Sam was shocked when Frodo winced in pain. Immediately lifting it away, he held it aloft, staring at Frodo in shock.

"Mr. Frodo—are you all right?"

Forcing himself to turn and look at them, Frodo's heart sank at the fear and confusion in their expression. Sam gripped the hand he had quickly withdrawn, making Frodo feel even more guilty for his reaction. Though his heart pounded and his gut twisted with worry, he looked into Sam's eyes and opened his mouth to speak, finding he could not. They heard Bilbo's piercing whistle and he turned to gaze down at his uncle, who stood on deck between Gandalf and Elrond, his hands framing his mouth as he stretched up onto his toes.

"Fro-o-o-o-do-o-o-o-o!!" Bilbo called, lifting both hands to beckon him.

Staring at the old hobbit who was more a father than an uncle, Frodo gasped back both a sob and a laugh, shaking his head at the irony of his situation. Bilbo was giddy with delight and eager to leave, but his own spirit withered even more. Turning back to his friends, he could see the confusion and hurt in their eyes as they began to understand his dilemma. Feeling torn, he saw the tears in Merry's eyes despite the brave smile he offered. Pippin was biting his bottom lip, but nodded his head in reluctant acceptance. Sam, on the other hand looked angry, despite the tears flooding his eyes. Frodo took a step toward him, swallowing against a throat gone dry. To his surprise, Sam took a step backward and shook off the restraining hand Merry laid upon his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo choked, searching his friend's face, "…but I think it's time for me to go."

A parade of emotions flitted across Sam's face as he seemed to awaken to the truth. Narrowing his eyes upon Frodo's face he protested in a croak of denial just as Bilbo called out again. Frodo gripped Sam's arms despite Bilbo's calls, which served to tear the threads holding him to his friends. Grief swelled up within him as he held Sam with his eyes, silently pleading for his release.

Sam was shaking his head as he gripped Frodo's arms. "Go where?" he croaked. "Not with them?"

"Froooodoooo!" Bilbo called again, sounding as if he were summoning a runaway pet.

Frodo grimaced at the sound of it, unable to think of any way to make them understand.

"You belong here, with us," Sam was saying as he gently shook him, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes..

Pain stabbed into Frodo's heart as he shook his head. "No more," he gasped, holding Sam's gaze. He watched his sadness turn into anger.

"How could you?" he accused. "You never said a word—"

"I couldn't," Frodo choked, placing his hands on Sam's arms. "But it's for the best, Sam," he tried to explain. "Not only for me—"

"But you've barely settled back into things," Sam protested, taking his hands in a forceful grip. "Give yourself a chance, Mr. Frodo—"

"It's been three years, Sam," Frodo said with a sad smile. He glanced toward Merry and Pippin, who stood gripping each other as if for support. "It's no use."

"You've had a hard time of it but you'll recover," Sam urged him. "Just wait and see!"

Unable to stand any more, Frodo threw his arms around his friend, holding onto him with all his strength. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he felt Sam begin to shake with silent sobs, making his own eyes flood with tears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt Sam's arms come around his back in an iron grip.

"Frodo, please," Pippin breathed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Don't go."

"We need you," Merry added, circling his arm around Frodo's back.

They stood in a close huddle for a moment as Frodo fought to catch his breath. Bilbo still called to him and he knew he was detaining the others. Easing from Sam's grip he looked at them in sad expectation, finally stepping back with a shudder.

"You have to let me go," he choked, turning his head toward the waiting ship.

"No—not you!" Sam cried, gripping the front of his jacket and forcing him to pry his hands away.

"I'll miss you, Sam," he choked, his voice failing him as he eyed two other friends. "And you, Merry and Pip—dear friends."

"But we need you here!" Sam urged, gripping his arm. "We haven't half your sense, even if we put all three o' our heads together—you know that."

"That's not true," Frodo insisted. "Now it's your time to carry on—I've made up my mind."

Sam stared at him a moment, studying him carefully. Finally he released him and stepped back. "All right," he said tightly. "If that's the way you want it."

Frodo shook his head in regret. "It's not that way," he sighed, nodding to Merry and Pip as he moved away, following in Bilbo's steps as he descended the stairs.

The sun was sinking lower, gilding the outlines of the ship and those aboard with golden haloes of light. He moved slowly toward them, his good hand sliding down the well worn railing as he went. Fixing his gaze upon the other passengers as they stood watching him, he drew near, noting the concern upon their faces. Deeply touched, he felt suddenly stronger. Taking a deep breath to pull the cool air into his lungs, he reached the bottom stair and crossed the weathered dock to the gangplank. Climbing up to the deck of the ship, he nodded curtly to those closest him before finding a place to stand apart from the rest. There he paused, laying a hand over the railing as he directed his gaze back toward his friends.

Sam swiped at his cheek and straightened his back as Merry and Pippin moved closer to lend their support. Frodo heaved back a sob as the scrape of the plank indicated it was being drawn up. A chain rattled and ground against an unseen wheel as the breeze whipped through the stiff fabric of the sails overhead. Beneath his feet the floor dipped slightly as they glided away from the dock. Gripping the railing tighter, Frodo kept his gaze upon his fellow hobbits and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Alisa felt Galadriel's arm coming around her shoulders as they watched Frodo try to deal with his grief. Every eye seemed to be fixed upon him, despite the obvious fact that he wished to be alone. She saw the pain twisting his expression, unable to forget the stark despair in his eyes when he had first boarded. Her own eyes flooded with unshed tears as she studied him in profile.

"It is for the best," Galadriel soothed, tightening her arm around her. "You will see."

Alisa shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from Frodo's face. "How can he leave them?" she whispered in sympathy. "He loves them so, even more than they love him."

"I know," the older woman said softly. "We must pray for Frodo all the more."

Alisa nodded, her lips already whispering the familiar verses she had long ago committed to memory. They had soothed and healed her own soul, and she had to believe they would do the same for him. Though hobbit relationships were legendary, never before had she seen such power of emotion as witnessed today. It both thrilled and threatened, for in that moment she realized the consequences of feeling too strongly and too deeply for someone.

Bilbo shook his head in wonder, wishing that goodbyes were not always so painful for the younger hobbits. Even from this distance he could see how Sam slumped between the hold Merry and Pippin kept on him as they stood watching them leave. And Frodo…

Staring at his nephew in amazement, he had to admit that he had doubted Frodo would manage to tear himself away, even after all these years. Knowing something of the anguish in his nephew's heart without feeling much of it himself, Bilbo watched his eyes fill with unshed tears. Frodo's eyes had always revealed his every emotion, and his face could be read as easily as an open book. Even from childhood Frodo had always been a sensitive sort, understandably so. Having suffered the loss of his parents at an early age, Bilbo had witnessed the compounding of his grief with the matter of the ring, something he had never suffered himself.

_If only I could have spared him the burden of the ring…_

Not one to dwell on the gloomy side of things too long, Bilbo pursed his lips and turned to glance up at Gandalf, who stood silently by his side. The old wizard glanced down from the corner of his eye and offered an unconvincing smile of encouragement. He nodded toward Frodo and took a deep breath, then lifted his white head, closed his eyes and began to meditate. Taking that as a sign of approval, Bilbo approached his nephew with careful steps, balancing himself against the gentle pitch of the ship as it moved slowly over the waters.

"There you are my lad!" he greeted him as cheerfully as he could, smiling when Frodo swung his head around to meet his gaze. "Glad you decided to come—I cannot imagine this adventure without you!"

Frodo's brows shot up a moment, his grip on the railing easing as he half turned and waited for him to come to his side.

Sam stared in mute disbelief as he struggled to accept the fact that they were losing Frodo. The ship was gliding away toward the sunset, but he watched Bilbo move to Frodo's side and slap his back. When they turned together to gaze back to the spot where he stood between Pip and Merry, he felt his churning stomach begin to quiet. Even from this distance he noted some of the pain leaving Frodo's expression, and there was a bit of a lift to his posture as he settled back into position next to his uncle, leaning over the railing and looking in their direction. Then, like a miracle, Sam felt relieved despite all his worries. Shaking his head in amazement, he nodded toward the ship they all stood watching.

"Just look at those two," he ordered, elbowing his friends but not taking his gaze from Frodo and Bilbo. "Of course they belong together," he said with growing conviction. Bilbo would help Frodo, and he sensed the others would, too. Finally turning to his companions, he smiled despite the same embarrassment he felt and saw written in their expressions.

"You're right," Merry admitted sheepishly. "And they are family, we mustn't forget."

Pippin coughed into his fist and linked his arm through Sam's. "And family and hobbits stay together."

"That's right," Sam breathed, gazing back toward the ship as it headed for the mouth of the harbor. "Which reminds me, Rosie and little Eleanor will be waiting for us."

"Us?" Pip exclaimed, turning to look him in the eye. "What do you mean?"

Turning with them, Sam pulled them into his sides as they started for the ponies. "Why you're coming to our house for dinner, of course," he announced proudly. "And I won't take no for an answer."

Pippin winked at Merry before screwing up his face in protest. "But we've got a long ride back and I'm hungry now," he complained.

Merry shoved him as he reached for the flap of Sam's saddlebag. "Got any snacks, Sam?" he quipped, ducking his head toward the bag.

Sam dragged Pip to the side of his pony and slapped Merry's back. "Of course I've got snacks," he stated, smiling as Merry pulled out an apple and bit into it. Pippin reached into the bag as he turned to glance back toward the ship, watching it slip between the feet of the mountains. He heard Pip chewing enthusiastically as he nodded his head. "My, what a grand sunset," he breathed, staring at the purples and pinks blazing in the sky. "I think Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo are in for a truly grand adventure…"

Leaning heavily against the railing, Frodo was aware of Gandalf's approach before he felt the hand laid upon his good shoulder. Not turning to acknowledge him or the invitation Bilbo extended to meet them below deck in their quarters, he was aware of them leaving his side without further comment. Unable to pull his gaze from the tiny forms of his friends, he stood alone watching them even after they mounted and rode away home toward the Shire. He set his jaw as the rise where he had stood above the harbor melted into the dusk and finally disappeared from sight. Anxiety clawed at the back of his mind, distracting him from the weight of grief pressing heavily upon him. He prayed in earnest for their safe journey home, as well as for their lives to be full and content. But even after that was finished, he remained apart on deck, watching Middle Earth itself fade into the shadows of twilight.

Shivering despite the warm glow of the sunset surrounding the ship, he pulled his cloak tighter. Blindly his fingers felt for the phial of Galadriel, brushing it and bringing him some relief. Then pulling his hand from his pocket, he gripped his injured one and absently massaged it, his mind flitting back into darker halls of memory. Not realizing how his face twisted with pain, he kept his eyes on the endless rows of waves undulating in the wake of their progress.


	2. Chapter 2 Between Two Worlds

_**Chapter 2 - Between Two Worlds**_

He stood rigid against the onslaught of the wind, his cloak whipping around his thighs. Cold fingers of salt spray combed his hair back from his forehead and he squinted in an effort to onto the vanishing line of Middle Earth as it faded into the darkness. Gripping the railing with both hands, he leaned into the railing until it pressed against his stomach like the cold handle of a spear. He gasped in an effort to catch his breath as the wind rushed between his slightly parted lips, feeling his chest tighten with emotion.

_It's done_, he mouthed the words, gripped with a strange mixture of panic and relief. He felt stripped of everything familiar, left with nothing but only the thinnest shreds of his identity. The journey to Mordor had already robbed him of his peace, but now his mind flooded with flashes of the past and a dark hole of the unknown to offer him a future. If he could ever find the strength to hope again. Closing his eyes and lifting a hand to cover his face, he shuddered at the prospect.

"Take heart, Frodo," a voice warned, startling him. Swinging his head to his right he met Elrond's frown, unable to hide from him the depths of his despair. For a moment they just stared at each other, but then the elf lord came closer and leaned his arms along the railing at his side, gazing out over the turbulent waters. "Things will go easier now," he said soberly, taking no note of him coming to his side and studying his profile. His grim profile was strangely comforting, Frodo thought as he studied him.

_Perhaps he is missing his daughter_, he thought, wondering how Arwen had managed the separation from her father. For the first time Frodo realized that he was not the only one aboard who suffered grief in their parting from Middle Earth.

"I—I'm sorry, Elrond," he said simply, flinching at the anguished expression on the older man's face when he turned to study him. But Elrond only nodded and returned his gaze to the waters.

"You must find the strength to look to the future," he advised Frodo, "...as must I."

Frodo sighed tiredly, turning his face back toward Middle Earth. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "…I miss her, too."

Elrond shifted suddenly, leaning one arm on the railing to half face him. "They will eventually come along," he mused. "But until then we must do our part to prepare the way for them; it is the reason we sail together, as a company of pioneers."

Frodo shook his head slowly, gazing into the mesmerizing swirls of water. "I cannot face the others...not now."

"It is the only way, Frodo," Elrond answered. "Let the others help, when you're ready of course."

Unable to look him in the eye, Frodo turned away. "I don't deserve anyone's help," he said quietly. "I don't even belong here."

There was a moment of silence before Elrond straightened. "I disagree—we are honored to have you and Bilbo sail with us."

Frodo clenched his jaw to keep from objecting. It was no use, he told himself. They could not see the fact that had it not been for Gollum stealing the ring from him, his own lust for it would have doomed them all. Its lure had defeated him, for he had decided to claim its power for himself. He had _wanted_ the dominion it offered, and to exalt himself over everyone else. All his noble intentions had deserted him when its temptation had enslaved him. Closing his eyes in shame and remorse, he felt Elrond's hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Someday you will understand why," he heard the elf lord state. "But for now, keep in mind the fact that this is not the end of our journey, but the beginning. A whole new life awaits us."

Frodo grimaced, hating the fact that they considered him a hero. In truth, he was the most despicable of scoundrels, a traitor not only to his own people, but to all of Middle Earth. As the silence between them lengthened, he wondered why Elrond remained at his side. Daring a glance toward him, he was surprised by the prayerful stance Elrond had assumed, eyes closed in determined intercession for his black soul. Unable to accept Elrond's compassion, he glanced away and choked back a sob, willing Elrond to leave him in peace. When he heard his quiet good night Frodo was astounded, and could only stare out at the sea as he received his wish.

Slowly releasing the breath he had been holding, Frodo moved further forward along the railing to resume his watch. Barely aware of the deepening darkness and rapidly falling temperature, he stood alone, his mind numb. After some time he began to notice tiny glimmers of light dancing upon the waters and looked up in surprise. Tiny elven lights sparkled along the outlines of masts and rigging, dimly lighting the ship and lending a magical touch to the stark beauty of the ship's structure. He studied the patterns of wood and sail, noting how fragile the ship appeared despite its obvious soundness and swift handling against the rough waters. With lips curving in fascination, he remembered his past obsession with all things elvish, a trait only he and Bilbo shared. Considered most unhobbitt-like, their fascination had often led them to deep wood hikes to explore the forests of the Shire, many times even passing beyond its borders. Dropping his head, he turned his attention back to the spray and parting of water in the ship's wake, feeling even colder. The coldness seeped into his innermost being, forcing him to watch the menacing dance of the waves as they bumped against the hull of the ship. For the first time he wondered how long a journey they faced, with nothing but the sea and the sky surrounding them. No land in sight, no one to understand.

_I am completely out of my element_, he thought. A hobbit at sea was one thing, but this sea, this journey was beyond the world, beyond time. It had an eternal purpose which he could not accept, a destination which he could not imagine. Closing his eyes, he longed for the days when he was blissfully unaware of evil. The days when no one spoke of any ring of power. Suddenly he saw the vivid dark glow of the eye, instantly transporting him back to the tower where its power was centered. His heart was gripped with malice and he could hear its horrible whispers trying to enslave him and swallow up his soul. Darkness crashed over him, overwhelming him with fear and searing his shoulder with sudden and renewed pain. He heard the desperate croak of his own voice as he groaned and bent over the railing. The pain gripped him and burned, spreading a river of agony throughout his body. His forehead touched the railing as he fought for breath.

Alisa stared at him in horror, rising from her seat. As a hand restrained her she looked up into Galadriel's stern expression, noting her warning shake of the head.

"Frodo must find his own way," she said quietly. "We must allow him that right."

"But he sails in our company, not alone," she stated, finding it difficult to keep her feelings to herself. All she wanted to do was go to him and put her arms around him to somehow offer comfort. She knew the power of a wordless touch, and in her mind it was exactly what Frodo needed.

"He's not ready, Alisa."

They fell silent, watching under cover of night and shadows. And while they watched, they prayed.

Frodo lifted his hand to his throbbing shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Please," he gasped, "deliver me!" He did not know whom he asked for help, but he asked nevertheless."Take the burden from me!"

Suddenly he found himself surrounded by light, and he was instantly transported in time and place. Blinking in surprise, he realized that he stood in a garden, for the fragrance of lily of the valley and lilac assaulted his senses. There were flowers at his feet and encircling the round patio upon which he stood. He could feel its cool, smooth stones beneath his bare soles. His heart felt something close to joy as he gazed at all the colors, pinks and yellows, lavendars and pale blues, so real that he reached out to run a fingertip along one of the blossoms at his side. The sweet chirping of birds was supported by the soft, distant rush of a waterfall, strengthening him. And his shoulder!

It felt as if warmed oil was trickling over his shoulder, seeping into his skin, bathing the bone and muscle with healing. His throat tightened with emotion as his fingertips felt for the tiny white stone hanging within his open collar. Suddenly he heard a feminine whisper, softly calling his name. Startled, he recognized it as Arwen's, but she was nowhere to be seen. The moment was strangely famililar, and he began to recognize what she whispered.

"_A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens… But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burdens is heavy… But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven."_

Tightening his fingers around the stone, he found himself immediately enveloped by cold darkness. Waves rose and fell before him and he stood staring at them in shock. The wind tossed his hair and flung his cape back, pressing his shirt to his chest and his trousers to his thighs. Yet somehow the pain was gone, leaving only a familiar stiffness in its wake. He heard footsteps moving behind him and the gay exchange of muted conversation. A horn sounded, startling him as clearly as if he had just slept for centuries only to awaken suddenly in a completely different world. Stunned, he lowered his gaze from the ocean and stared at the glow of elven lights shining in the polished wood of the railing. They glinted off the bronze underpinning of the rail, making it shine.

_How long this time?_ he worried, hoping no one had noticed his lapse. Too embarrassed to move, he stared at the railing as the footsteps retreated downstairs, mixed with the soft clanking of tankards and silver from the dining hall below. But he could not smell the warm odor of dinner, nor the sweet aroma of baked bread. Finding himself alone on deck, he breathed a sigh of relief, smoothing his fingertips over the white stone and clinging to those last whispers of promise:

"_When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you...this will bring you aid."_

"Are you all right, Frodo?"

It was Elrond's voice, but Frodo did not turn to look at him. Somehow the gemstone began to grow warm to the touch, and this increased as he felt a hand settle upon his good shoulder yet again. Elrond stood close, but said nothing. Trying to return to the garden, Frodo's mind filled with flashes of light and visions of the past, finally settling upon one.

"I remember now," he answered, finally turning to look at him. "It was Lady Arwen," he breathed, noting the hint of pain crossing Elrond's face at the mention of her name."She gave me her place," Frodo said thickly, "here, aboard this ship."

Elrond's expression was guarded. "It was her choice, Frodo."

"I'm sorry," Frodo choked, his eyes filling. "I had no right--"

"She wanted to be with Aragorn," Elrond reminded him, "and she wanted you to come, in her stead."

Frodo shook his head in amazement. "But why?"

"She was always so fond of you, and it was the best gift she could give you."

"I don't deserve her friendship, or her gift."

Elrond's gaze was stern. "She would want you to use it for good, as her gift was intended."

Frodo dropped the stone and looked away. "I do not deserve such a gift," he whispered, "though I am deeply grateful to her, and to you."

"This gift was not given in payment, Frodo," he heard Elrond say. "And you must realize that you gave her a gift, as well."

Frodo swerved his eyes to Elrond's. "I don't understand…?"

Elrond's face relaxed and a ghost of a smile played around his lips. "You gave her your place in Middle-earth--and a chance to start over."

Seeing his confusion, Elrond nodded toward the distant horizon. "By taking the ring to Mordor you gave her a future..you gave it to all of us."

"But she stayed behind, and is now parted from you," Frodo reasoned.

"Though parting is painful, it is not for eternity," Elrond said. "And Arwen would not be parted from her husband, Frodo. You gave her the gift of a mortal life--your place in Middle Earth."

_That you might have an immortal one…_

The words burned within him, yet at the same time filled everything around them. The heavens whispered them, the seas sighed in acknowledgement. Suddenly Frodo realized that they were not Arwen's words alone; someone else had spoken them as a gift, for him. Astonished, he stared at Elrond, whose calm expression made him doubt that he had even heard the words. How could it be that the elf lord had not heard?

"Love is everything, Frodo," he was telling him, "and if you don't know that now, you will."

An exchange had been made, Frodo realized, one that superceded any choice or gift made by mortals. He remembered Gandalf once telling him that a greater will was in place--and now he was sure of it. That will was holding the world in place despite its cooperation. Gandalf had recognized it long before, and despite Frodo's being pitifully unsuited to being a ring bearer, he had placed his confidence and faith in that will. That will had seen that he was the one to take the ring to Mordor, and now to sail to the Blessed Realm. For the first time, he wondered what awaited him there.Yet, despite this knowledge, he was not sure he was ready to face his own future.

Looking back toward Middle-earth, he sighed wearily. "Do you think that if I had stayed behind, I might have found healing?"

There--he'd said it--voiced his doubts, questioned his own future.

"What do you think, Frodo?" Elrond said carefully.

He shook his head, staring at the tossing waves. "Maybe I could have healed, eventually…"

"You might have," Elrond stated, "given different circumstances."

Suddenly remembering Arwen and Aragorn's wedding, Frodo knew that their marriage would be a happy one. They were meant for each other, and that was obvious to all. Together they would accomplish many things, and continue to bless the lives of others. He remembered Sam and Rosie's wedding as well, and how each member of the fellowship had found their place in family and community, having overcome their trials and started anew. Even though he knew Bilbo was happily toasting their voyage belowdeck, he was alone, the only one who had not overcome the past.

"Everyone else seems to have recovered," he sighed. "Even Sam, who was with me nearly the entire time."

"Sam did not carry the burdens you did," Elrond objected. "And he now enjoys the love of a good woman, as well as the joy of fathering a child."

Frodo nodded slowly, remembering that important difference. "Yes…he has his Rosie." He remembered Sam's grief at not revealing his love to Rosie as they perched above the rivers of burning rock at the foot of Mount Doom. He saw them being rescued by the eagles, recovering in the Houses of Healing and going home to Bag End. He saw dancing, love shining in Sam's eyes and mirrored in Rosie's. Even now, as Sam returned to her Frodo prayed that his departure would not torment Sam with grieft. He prayed that Sam would heal and find new friends, and grow into old age in happiness and peace.

_You must be whole and well, Sam, _he determined._ Not torn, as I am._

"It won't do you any good to keep looking back, you know."

Shaken from his thoughts, Frodo turned to see Bilbo standing before him, an uncharacteristic frown upon his face. Where was Elrond, Frodo wondered. As Bilbo came closer and flung his arms over the railing, Frodo smiled in spite of his troubled thoughts. Bilbo had a way of cheering everyone up, even from their lowest state. His uncle pulled his attention from the waves back to him.

"You know what I'm talking about," he said meaningfully, bumping Frodo with his shoulder. Then he grinned impishly at him.

"You're right," Frodo admitted with a sigh, pulling away from the railing as well as his gloomy mood. "I know that now."

Bilbo studied him for a moment, obviously not convinced. Still, he straightened, tugging down his waistcoat. "Well then--in that case--" he said, placing his hands on Frodo's upper arms and making him turn around to face the other direction. Once they faced the bow of the ship, Bilbo transferred one hand to Frodo's chest and pushed him down onto the upholstered bench behind him. He pointed West. "Shall we set our course this way, then?"

Frodo stared up at him in surprise, laughing at himself and grateful for his uncle's unfailingly optimism. "All right," he chuckled, relaxing back against the cushions as Bilbo seated himself at his side. "No turning back."

Bilbo stretched back, crossing one ankle over his knee and gazing into his face. "You're sure?"

Frodo met his appraising look, knowing that any uncertainty on his part would be detected and dealt with. "I am now."

Bilbo dropped his foot to the floor boards and slapped his knees. "Good!" he said with gusto, transferring his gaze to the deeply overcast, dark sky. "I believe we shall see a bit of rain tonight," he sighed, glancing at Frodo. "I should have loved to have seen the stars instead."

Frodo said nothing, though he had to agree. In earlier days he would have leapt at the chance to sail and immersed himself in the study of the stars, particularly this far north and west. But now, he just didn't have the desire. Bilbo kept his eyes overhead, but he bit his lower lip as if worried.

"You know," he said casually, "we really ought to make plans for our arrival."

Frodo stared at him a moment, surprised at his quick changes of mood and intent. "How can we? We don't even know what to expect."

"That's just it, we don't!" Bilbo agreed, getting up to stand before him. "We must _decide_ what we would like to do--I'm sure the possibilities are limitless!"

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Limitless possibilities…are you sure about that?"

"Of course I am!" Bilbo declared, taking a deep breath. "Ahh…I just love the salt air!" He stretched his arms wide. "Look at us, Frodo! Despite what anyone ever thought before, I believe we hobbits are made for seafaring!"

Well aware of the traditional hobbit aversion for water, he had to laugh. "You think so?"

"I know so!" Bilbo replied, patting his stomach meaningfully. "And now that our bellies have gotten used to all this swell and dip, I think it's time we look for a little something to eat!"

"But you've already been down to dinner!" he chuckled, noting the pleasure in Bilbo's expression.

"Ah, that was just an appetizer--I couldn't continue without you by my side!" he defended. "Can't you just taste those wonderful scents?"

Frodo suddenly felt hungry, realizing that he had not eaten since their morning departure from Bag End. "But everyone's already started."

"Yes, I thought that a bit rude, but then again elves are not hobbits! Well what do you say, Frodo? A bit of cheese and a crust of bread sound enticing?"

Frodo shook his head at Bilbo's sense of humor. "I doubt such ordinary fare is served aboard an elven ship." The few meals he'd shared with elves had been grand, with wonderful fruits, soups, breads and water liqueur. He watched Bilbo lift his chin and sniff the air.

"You may be right about that; I think I smell meat pasties--come, let's go exploring!"

Suddenly realizing that elven meal times consisted of complex conversations and lengthy reading of poetry and song, Frodo grew reluctant. He was not sure he was up to that, and he didn't want to spoil the meal for anyone else.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now."

"Nonsense! We'll be sure to hear many tales, even be asked to share a song, no doubt."

"That is what I was afraid of," he admitted. "You on the other hand are always up for a challenge, aren't you?"

"Of course, if there's food involved," Bilbo answered good naturedly. "But don't see it as a challenge, but an adventure!"

Frodo crossed his arms, quirking a brow up at his uncle. He suddenly wanted Bilbo to convince him, and was eager to watch the performance.

"Think of it, Frodo," Bilbo began, never one to disappoint Frodo's expectations. "Here we are, two hobbits from the Shire, surrounded by elves, on a great elven ship! Even better, we sail for Valino--why that's the stuff of which hobbit tales are made!"

"I supposed that's one way of looking at it--"

"Well, keep looking and while you're at it, put yourself into it!"

Frodo nodded, remembering his many months of work on the Red Book in an effort to record all the experiences he had shared with Sam. He'd left the book behind, in Sam's care, so that he could write his own adventures there. His smile faded. "It's just that I miss Sam…and the others."

Bilbo looked at his nephew with a love so deep he felt it would make him cry. Oftentimes he had tried to hide it, yet now he wondered if he should not have tried. Frodo's life flitted before the eyes of Bilbo's mind, forcing him to admit how different their lives had been, and how different they were themselves. From the beginning Frodo had struck him as too serious a young hobbit, too emotional and sensitive. But he had suffered since childhood, ever since the loss of his parents. Now, after the ordeal he'd been through, his pain was too great to overlook. Bilbo sat down and cupped the side of Frodo's head with his hand, noting how his dark brown curls lay plastered there, wet from the heavy mist. He was tempted to send him below to change and get warm, but decided against it. Frodo was no longer a boy, and he was deeply wounded inside and out. He looked into Frodo's tormented gaze and smiled sadly.

"I know you do," he admitted, allowing himself a moment of mourning. "I miss them, too."

Frodo looked surprised at the change in him. Bilbo allowed his sadness and regret a moment, then he bolstered himself into acceptance. "Then our plans must include preparing for their future arrival," he said with confidence.

Frodo stared at him. "Do you really believe that," he asked softly. "That we will see them again?"

Bilbo nodded. "I am almost sure of it--it's meant to be, Frodo."

"But how can you be sure?"

"Because we are still a fellowship," Bilbo said, transferring his hand to Frodo's good shoulder. "That kind of thing cannot be broken."

Frodo looked confused. "But the fellowship separated, after our task was completed," he answered. "It fulfilled its time."

"Time--exactly!" Bilbo replied, admiring Frodo's keen intelligence. "And now we enter another time, yet it hasn't changed anything. We're just going on ahead, for a bit, to do our part."

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked in earnest. "What part is that?"

Bilbo stretched his arm toward the direction in which they sailed. "To prepare the way, not just for us, but for them." His mind fashioned all sorts of great deeds just waiting for them, and his attention trailed off into that country.

Bilbo seemed unusually eager, almost restless, Frodo judged, but he also recognized Bilbo's underlying contentment. For as long as he had known him, Bilbo always found a way to somehow be oddly at peace. Compared to him, Frodo felt weak and useless. He wished he could be more like Bilbo. He wanted to face the future with hope, but he felt empty and exhausted. He noted the keen eye with which Bilbo studied the clouds overhead, as if willing them to blow away so that he could see the stars.

"How do you do it?" Frodo sighed, looking at him in awe.

"Hmm?" Bilbo remarked, suddenly startled from his reverie. "What? What did I do?"

Frodo chuckled. "Nothing," he reassured him, leaning back tiredly against the upholstery.

Bilbo frowned. "You cannot just declare such intensity as 'nothing' Frodo!"

Frodo chuckled. "I was just wondering how you always manage to see the bright side of things."

Bilbo challenged him with a look. "Is that all you were wondering?"

Frodo raised one eyebrow. "And where it is that you get all of your energy."

Bilbo threw a glance toward the stairs. "For one thing, food and nice soft beds await us, dear boy! The answer to your last question is from napping."

Frodo laughed aloud. "You are going to take a nap, with all this adventure going on?"

"Just for a bit--you should try it! Does wonders for one's health."

Frodo shook his head. "I don't think I could sleep now, even if I tried," he admitted. "But don't stay up on account of me. I know how much you enjoy your rest."

Bilbo put his hands at the base of Frodo's neck and brought his face close. "You need a good rest, Frodo. If you were'nt a grown man I'd send you off myself! Now we've got a long journey sailing to the Realm and you'll need your strength for the arrival--and I don't want to see you tossing in fevers ever again!"

Frodo studied him a moment, then nodded. "I'll take your advice, but later…do you want help in getting settled?"

"No, I did that already," he answered, cupping Frodo's face with his palms. "Now come down for dinner; just sit by my side and let me do all the talking, all right?"

Frodo gently took his hands away, resting them on Bilbo's own knees. "All right, but don't be upset if I'm quiet."

"Good! Eat a bit and feel free to leave when you wish," Bilbo stated, "though I'm sure that tonight the singing will be exceptional."

Frodo pulled himself to the edge of the seat. "I'll consider it if you promise not to worry so much--"

"I won't worry about you if you don't worry about me," Bilbo warned. "I'm not as old and stiff as I look."

Frodo laughed, following his uncle as they got up and stretched. Bilbo patted his hair and cloak, looking up at Frodo. "We're wet--let's run to change before we dine!"

By the time he followed Bilbo out of their shared quarters, Frodo lifted his arm and tugged up the sleeve of his jacket, frowning at the obvious evidence that it had shrunken. The sleeves, in fact even his trousers seemed strangely ill fitted, shorter than before. Bilbo's clothing looked the same, but he was too eager to leave their room and kept turning to wave him to follow. Frodo tucked the leather binding framing his maimed finger back below his sleeve, hoping no one would notice it. He was having difficulty ignoring the throbbing pain and cramping which had started up again over the last few minutes, yet he followed Bilbo across the bowels of the ship via a well lit and polished hallway. To his surprise Bilbo turned, tugging his pants higher.

"Either the mists have shrunken our fine hobbit clothing," he began, "of someone has slipped an Ent draught into our water!" he whispered with a devilish smile.

Frodo remembered the tales Merry and Pippin had shared of their experiences among the Ent tree people, for the water that flowed in their forest had made them both strangely taller. Bilbo halted as they came to the end of the dinner line, turning to ruffle Frodo's drying hair and complimented him on his appearance.

"You look the proper hobbit gentleman," he breathed, his eyes traveling over Frodo's best dark brown velvet suit, up to his plain tall collar and brown-gold cravat, and down again over his cream colored waistcoat. "Very smart indeed."

Bilbo had chosen his own favorite dark green jacket and black pants, minus the waistcoat and cravat Frodo had chosen. They shuffled behind two elves who remained deep in conversation, finally entering the crowded dining room. Frodo felt someone's gaze and discovered the watchful eyes of Galadriel. She smiled happily as she nodded to him, shifting her eyes to Bilbo. The knowing look that passed between them puzzled Frodo.

_I must do something to help Frodo grasp a sense of his future, _Bilbo whispered in response. He knew that Galadriel had planted the thought into his mind, and agreed that it was an excellent idea. Frodo was, after all, his ward, and he was in the prime of his life. Much of that life had recently been spent in sacrifice and great suffering, and Bilbo realized that a change was needed. Whereas before Frodo had kept company with him, his elderly uncle, and with Gandalf, the aged wizard, and now robbed of his peers, new friendships were called for. He transferred his gaze from Galadriel's pleased expression to Frodo's vacant stare. Eyeing his nephew critically, he tried envisioning Frodo with his own Rosie, which suddenly seemed the perfect solution.

Frodo pulled his attention back to the line, which had moved forward while Bilbo stood before him, wearing a very uncharacteristic look of disapproval.

"What is it?" Frodo asked defensively, gently pushing at his uncle's arm to get him to close the gap in the line.

Bilbo met Frodo's upset expression with a mischievous smile. "Oh nothing, Frodo...nothing at all," he murmured, glancing around as if to see if there were two seats together. The dining room was crowded and only a few got up to leave for their beds.

"Uncle..."

Bilbo smiled at Frodo's warning look. He could see that his nephew was not at all fooled by his evasive behavior, and decided he would have to be more careful in the future. "Although I'm very hungry this is a good chance to stretch our legs a bit, our sea legs…" he explained, gasping with pleasure as they reached the edge of the serving table. "Now finally we can get down to business!"

Frodo eyed him suspiciously as Bilbo handed him a plate. "What do you mean, 'business'?"

Bilbo looked up, gripping his rolled napkin and silverware. "You know, the business of eating, and getting to know our fellow passengers."

Frodo nodded slowly, watching Bilbo glance around one more time before he grabbed a serving spoon and shook out a heap of mashed potatoes onto his plate. "There are two seats over by Lady Galadried and that lovely young girl traveleing with her."

Frodo halted with the salad fork in one hand, glancing over to where Bilbo's nod was directed. In that moment Lady Galadriel smiled when he met her gaze, nodding to him as she squeezed her husband's arm. At her side the young woman Bilbo had mentioned was turned in profile, watching the couple intently. Suddenly she turned and met his gaze, and Frodo felt a flash of recognition. Somehow, though he couldn't remember when or where, he knew they had met before. As he felt his brows lift she quickly looked away. At his side Bilbo cleared his throat, capturing his attention.

There was a smile playing about Bilbo's lips and Frodo knew he had seen that particular one before. "You?" he gasped in surprise, "a matchmaker? Now?"

Under his scrutiny Bilbo threw up one hands. "Oh why not? I'm your guardian, and you're not getting any younger, you know--though--I wonder…perhaps that should have changed by now as well."

Puzzled by Bilbo's wandering off in thought, Frodo glanced back at the girl, who appeared to be waiting for him to do so. She smiled broadly, completely surprising him. He stared back, not realizing he was doing so. He heard Bilbo state something as he dropped a mound of potatoes on Frodo's plate and moved up. He followed, bending to his uncle's ear.

"What did you just say?" he whispered.

"I said our food is getting cold--"

"No, before that--"

"Oh yes, I just realized that due to your condition at the time it occurred to me that you might not recognize her."

"Who?"

"Her!" Bilbo hissed, nodding his head in the girl's direction as he reached for a meat pasty. Without asking if Frodo wanted one, he dropped a matching one on his plate. "The girl who tended your wounds at Minas Tirith."

Frodo looked up slowly, grateful that she had returned her attention to Galadriel. His eyes narrowed on her profile. "_She_ did?" he whispered in horror. _Which wounds? And for how long?_

"We all helped of course, but Alisa was your assigned healer--"

"You know _her_?" Frodo whispered, looking away when she turned in their direction. "Why didn't you tell me before?

"Then you do remember!" Bilbo chuckled with apparent delight, laying a spoonful of broccoli on his own.

"I'm not sure I do," Frodo said quietly. "But she does seem familiar, somehow."

Embarrassed by his failed memory and the way he had felt instantly drawn to her from the first, Frodo thought about her being there when he was rescued. He knew very little of what had happened to him in the Houses of Healing, but apparently she did. He was intrigued by her and was curious, yet he couldn't imagine speaking of such things with her. Surely it would be highly improper, he guessed.

"Don't you remember trying to convince Sam to approach Rosie?" Biblo asked, adding a pile of fruit to the last empty corner of his overloaded plate.

Frodo frowned, unsure of the direction of his thoughts. "Yes, Sam was too shy to speak to her…why do you mention it, Uncle?"

"Do you remember how you had to forced him into dancing with her?"

Frodo nodded, relaxing a bit. "It was ridiculous," he breathed, "everyone knew they liked each other, but both were too afraid to do anything about it. That is why I had to intervene, with Merry's and Pip's help, of course."

"Of course," Bilbo agreed. "That is what friends are for; and look where you led the two of them."

Frodo eyed Bilbo with newfound respect. If Bilbo had noticed that, nothing had escaped his notice. Yet as Bilbo continued to move up the line and glance at him expectantly, Frodo decided he had had enough of subtlety for the moment. And he was beginning to feel hungry at that, though the line seemed to have stalled.

"You're saying that I pushed them into marriage," he guessed, shaking his head. "You can't be serious."

"Oh but I am," Bilbo stated, leaning closer. "Had you not pushed Sam into Rosie's waiting arms he would still be gazing at her longingly from a lengthy distance, and you know it."

Frodo tried to deny that amazing leap to conclusion. "I doubt that would have happened, Uncle--"

"All journeys begin with one step, Frodo."

Frodo stared back at him, reading what he had tried to deny as the direction of Bilbo's thoughts. He glanced toward the girl named Alisa, who was thankfully involved in conversation with Galadried. He directed back toward Bilbo a sharp, accusatory glance. "You're not saying that I should go over to her, introduce myself--"

"Yes, yes," Bilbo encouraged.

"And say what? 'Thank you for helping me to recover, though I cannot remember you'?"

Bilbo's glee faded a bit. "Well, not that, exactly," he admitted, looking puzzled but only for a moment. "Just go over there and tell her I sent you, then let her do the talking," he suggested, keeping his voice just above a whisper. "She knows me well enough to blame me, so you have nothing to fear."

Frodo shook his head in amazement. "She knows you that well, does she?"

Bilbo looked mildly insulted. "Of course she does, what do you think we were all doing while you took so long to get well?"

"Well I hardly planned it that way," Frodo huffed, stretching his head to one side to see what the holdup ahead was.

"She's lovely, and sweet, and I think that if you just have one conversation--"

"You're doing it again."

Bilbo straightened, holding Frodo's look of disapproval. "Doing what?"

"You know."

"I don't read minds like Gandalf--"

"Trying to choose a girl for me," Frodo clarified. "Admit it."

Bilbo smiled. "I have done nothing of the kind--she is the one interested in you! Didn't Sam tell you anything?"

Frodo was taken aback from what sounded suspiciously like conspiracy. "Sam? What has he got to do with it?"

Bilbo giggled mischievously. "Oh this is rich--Sam knew she liked you and he said she was perfect for you--"

"You both discussed this while I lay unaware?"

Bilbo patted his arm. "We laughed about it and called it 'Sam's Revenge'! But surely he could never keep that from you, though I suppose judging by the expression on your face...he didn't, did he?"

Frodo's irritation deflated as quickly as Bilbo's enthusiasm. Finally he had to shake his head. "I wouldn't let him," he admitted, suddenly feeling guilt and remorse for his behavior, especially in those early days after their experience on Mount Doom.

Bilbo took his arm and guided him to a table with three empty chairs. Apparently they had lingered so long that others were finished and retiring for the night. He laid his plate down and took Frodo's from him, setting it at the other place. He glanced backward and noted the flit of disappointment that quickly disappeared from Alisa's waiting gaze.

"You've been through a lot, and you're still not through it," he said quietly, pulling out the chair as Frodo glanced down at it, then seated himself, raising a hand to his temple. "I'm sorry for the fact that sometimes I forget that important point."

"No, I'm sorry," Frodo said tiredly without looking up. "I know I've been horrible to everyone," he admitted.

"But we do understand," Bilbo soothed, sitting next to him. "Take your time..and know that we only meant to help."

Frodo looked up, smiling wanly. "I know...and I appreciate that." He watched Bilbo sit down and smile before lifting a forkful of potatoes to his mouth. Closing his eyes in appreciation, he heard Frodo laugh.

"All right," Frodo declared, nodding toward her table. "I'll keep your suggestion in mind, despite the fact that it is nothing like the situation with Sam and Rosie."

Bilbo swallowed and held his gaze. "Pity…" he breathed, smiling faintly. "But that remains to be seen."


	3. Chapter 3 Visions in the Night

_**Chapter 3 Visions in the Night**_

_**A**uthor's Note: Please forgive the delay in posting this next chapter: I plan to edit the previous two for clarity. _

Alisa picked at her food, once again stealing a glance at him. It was clear that he did not want to be here, yet once again Bilbo had prevailed and somehow gotten him to join them for dinner. Whatever they were discussing, it was obvious the were not in agreement, yet she could sense the respect Frodo had for his adopted uncle. Even more troubling was the way Frodo had looked at her earlier when standing in line with Bilbo. As if he was terrified of her. Even now she noted the tension in his shoulders, her study abruptly interrupted when Bilbo nodded to her from across the crowded room. Quickly lifting her mug and glancing at Galadriel, she hoped Bilbo had not taken note of her interest in his nephew. Though she loved Bilbo, he was not the most tactful hobbit. Taking a quick sip of her tea, she told herself she was being silly. Even if Bilbo had noticed, surely he would never embarrass both of them by mentioning it to Frodo...or would he?

_Don't be so self centered_, her conscience scolded. One quick glance around her told her that neither he nor Frodo thought of her, so crowded was the dining room with every eye riveted to the two hobbits. Conversations were more muted than usual, and many an eye flitted toward Frodo with a mixture of fascination and concern. They were being discrete about it, but the other diners waited expectantly for some reaction from them. She felt the weight of anticipation quite and heard it in the hush of the room.

_I'm no better than the others,_ she thought, _watching and waiting for Frodo to break down._ They expected it, waited for it. Even Bilbo's presence and easygoing nature could not ease their worries. After all, Frodo had only lately come into renown, yet through great suffering. And unlike Bilbo, he did not flourish as an object of their attention, but rather avoided it. And that made him even more mysterious and fascinating.

She watched the hobbits finish passing down the line, turn and head for two vacant seats which were at the opposite end of the room. Frodo sat quickly, his left side to her as he kept his eyes on Bilbo. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand as he toyed with the food on his plate, eating little yet quickly draining his mug. It was Bilbo who partook of the excellent meal and carried the conversation between them. At one point Bilbo rose for a second helping of potatoes, leaving Frodo alone to lay aside his fork and wait for his return. To keep up the pretense of dining, she jabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork and stuffed it into her mouth at the precise moment when he suddenly turned his head and looked directly at her.

His startling blue eyes locked with hers and caused her heart to skip a beat. Knowing she was blushing, she could not look away even when his brow lifted with interest. Feeling warm all over, she held his gaze, startled by its power over her. No one had ever affected her in this way, both drawing her and frightening her at the same time. He slowly lifted a hand and rested his chin upon it, his eyes traveling slowly over her features as the brow returned to its position. Then Bilbo walked between them and took his place once again, breaking the contact. To her surprise Bilbo glanced over at her and smiled mischievously, never stopping his one sided discussion with Frodo. Even more embarrassed, she looked away and stabbed a carrot, studying it with sudden and pretended interest. Furiously chewing the broccoli, she finally swallowed it and lifted the carrot, daring to glance back toward them.

Frodo had half turned toward Gandalf as the wizard came to their table and accepted a chair being vacated by an elf she did not know. As Gandalf sat down next to Frodo those at the neighboring tables turned and pulled their chairs closer, crowding around the three with sudden interest. She watched Frodo nod in greeting to each as he was introduced, though something in his manner told her that he longed to slip away. A young couple approached him, bowed and spoke briefly with him, earning a wan smile as he listened patiently. He answered briefly and met Gandalf's perusal, looking to another who leaned toward him. As the hour lengthened and only those seated demanded his attention, Frodo leaned back in his chair and appeared to settle more comfortably into the after dinner conversation. From time to time he raised his good hand to the back of his neck, massaging it without much enthusiasm. The other, she noted, remained hidden in his pocket the entire evening.

How many times had they placed poultices to that wound in an attempt to draw out the poison? For days she and the other healers had labored over him as he hung between life and death. It had been Aragorn who had first summoned her to stitch it closed, a simple act that had drawn her irrevocably into the fight to save his life. The memory of her first glimpse of it still caused something in the pit of her stomach to plummet. _Bite marks_, she remembered with a shudder, and they did not only surround his finger. He had been bitten many times and carried countless other wounds, some which she had tended, others not. Though it had been three years since then she could see that he had still not fully recovered. His suffering was evident in the stiff tension of his posture and expression, and he had not regained much of the weight he had lost. In the bright light of the dining hall he looked pale. But that was why he was here, she reminded herself.

Someone proposed a toast and Frodo tensed, shaking his head to decline. When those around his table protested he looked to Bilbo, then to Gandalf for help. But Gandalf only smiled sadly, his eyes holding Frodo's. When Bilbo stood up and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder she smiled, watching him bow and lift his mug to begin. Shifting her attention back to Frodo, she saw the relief in his eyes as he leaned back once again in his chair, cradling his mug in his good hand.

"…taking a moment to digest this most excellent dinner," Bilbo was saying as she settled back in her chair as well. Glancing at Galadriel, she let her take her hand and felt her squeeze it affectionately.

"My nephew and I wish to thank all of you for inviting us along," Bilbo declared, "and we look forward to many hours in your wonderful company, not to mention the finest wine and food this side of the Shire--"

There was a hearty round of laughter and cheering before Bilbo took over once again, deflecting their attention away from Frodo as he continued. His nephew averted his eyes and therfore missed the frown of worry that creased Gandalf's face. Alisa held her breath, fearing that Frodo would get up and leave. But instead she saw a faint smile lift his lips at something Bilbo related, causing her to concentrate on what Bilbo was saying.

"For you see my nephew and I, hobbits in the truest sense of the word, have found ourselves pleasantly outdone from your hospitality," he said with a slight bow. "Even a bit lethargic, so rich was your fare," he added with a grin and a squeeze to Frodo's shoulder. To her surprise Frodo looked up and nodded, stifling a yawn which made everyone laugh. "So in a feeble attempt to tell some of you what will become a bedtime story for some," Bilbo chuckled good naturedly, "I would like the chance, if you will indulge me, to share a little story about the time our hobbit home was similarly crowded, not with elves but with a small company of dwarves..."

Animated applause shot around the room as Bilbo smiled with pleasure, launching into the well known account of his travels with the dwarves to steal the dragon's treasure. He began to stroll leisurely around the room, laying a hand here or an affectionate slap there as he wove their interest into a bond of legend none wished to escape. From time to time he glanced toward Frodo, all the while moving farther from him. Careful to keep her eye on Frodo, she was one of only a few who noticed when he slipped from his seat and left the room. The tale moved onto the journey toward Iron Mountain and even those who noticed settled back to listening once again.

_Where could he be going?_ she wondered, amazed at how expertly both hobbits had worked together without much notice. Glancing to her side, she met Galadriel's gaze as she leaned toward her.

"He managed that more easily than I expected," Galadriel whispered, smiling at Bilbo's latest comment. "Don't worry about him."

"But he seems so troubled," she whispered back, "desperate, in fact."

Galadriel squeezed her hand. "He's very strong, beneath all that emotion."

Alisa shook her head, her eyes scanning the faces in the room. "Everyone expects him to be like his uncle," she protested.

"Give them time to get to know him."

Alisa sighed, wanting to go to Frodo yet knowing he would prefer to be alone. "Bilbo did well to shift the attention to himself."

Galadriel nodded. "He will always protect Frodo, if he can."

She took a moment to study Bilbo. "Do you think he really understands him, though?"

Galadriel looked thoughtful. "They are very different."

Alisa leaned closer. "I would like your leave to go to him," she whispered. "Frodo needs a good listener."

Galadriel drew back to study her a moment, her expression intent. "He needs much more than that," she answered. "And you desire to help him."

Beginning to blush, Alisa nodded. "There's just something about him," she admitted, "…my heart goes out to him."

"You must guard your heart," Galadriel advised. "At least for now."

They fell silent, returning their attention to Bilbo. He was speaking of his hiding in an apple barrel to escape the jail, and after a moment Galadriel leaned back toward her, her eyes on Bilbo. "Frodo will be very good for you, when he has healed."

Alisa stared at her a moment. "I thought you disapproved!" she whispered.

"Not at all," Galadriel answered, looking at her. "In fact, I intend to speak to Bilbo about it, when the time is right."

Alisa slid her hand along her arm, leaning against her and finally beginning to relax.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Frodo paused to inhale the cold, salty air. Spacing his feet far enough apart to find his balance, he lifted his eyes heavenward and gazed at the black sky. The wind whipped his gray elven cloak around him like a small sail as he stood there in thanksgiving for escaping the crowd below. Thanks to Bilbo, no one seemed to have noticed his departure, and he made a note to thank him when he next saw his uncle. Turning to grasp the railing, he slid his good hand along it and headed toward the bow of the ship, pulling himself along against the pitching of the ship. When he found a secluded spot he faced the ocean and gripped the rail, leaning over to gaze down at the swells and measuring them to be about his height. The wind blew steadily against him, spraying him with a fine mist he relished after the warm confinement of the dining hall. Glad that he had eaten only a bit of the food Bilbo piled upon his plate, he swallowed to settle his stomach against the dip and rise of the ship.

They were cutting a northwesterly channel through the turbulent waters, heading into a thick mountain of dark clouds riding the unsteady horizon. Off in the distance he spied sheets of rain pelting the surface of the water, only to be cut off and reappear farther along their route. Focusing upon the dark horizon, he caught a flash of lightning but heard no thunder. Strangely comforted by the angry threat of the storm, he soon became accustomed to the swaying of the deck beneath his feet. But he did not notice how the spray plastered his hear to his head, so completely did he feel part of the darkness surrounding him.

It wasn't long before the voice came to him once again, against which he set his jaw determinedly. Concentrating upon the direction in which they sailed, he resisted the taunting whispers hovering around the edges of his mind. When a slap of spray struck his forehead he turned toward it in acceptance, thankful for both its punishment and cleansing. But when it continued and started to master him, he cried out silently for the forgiveness he never found. Struggling with the relentless guilt which had plagued him since his failure at Mount Doom, he prayed in the only manner he knew, groaning for mercy despite a strengthening in the malevolent presence gripping him with its invisible hold. It pressed its weight upon his shoulders, then crushed his back, bending him over the railing. Gasping for breath, he claimed the deliverance he so desperately sought. Closing his eyes, he nearly gave up the struggle when suddenly it happened again--the rush of wind that blew as if from heaven, forcing away the evil presence. He gasped and straightened, noting how suddenly it left him. Knowing what would happen next, he closed his eyes and waited.

Frodo found himself transported to another time and place, this time a garden. He could feel the warmth of the sun touching him and bathing him with peace. Deep within his soul the turmoil ceased, leaving him to feel the warmth spreading through his chest as clearly as if it had been planted there by an unseen hand. Closing his eyes in gratitude, he heard the soft hum of Sam's tuneless voice as he worked the vegetable garden at Bag End. Emotion choked him with joy as he realized he was back in the Shire, close to the presence of his friend once again. He could hear Sam digging and muttering something about turnips. He could smell the freshly turned earth and see Sam bending over the garden, his broad back stretching his once white shirt to its limit. Shaking his head with disbelief, Frodo opened his eyes and saw Sam shove aside mounds of earth, flinging an occasional weed behind him without care of where it landed.

"It's got to be in here somewheres," Sam muttered under his breath, making Frodo gasp with laughter.

_You're always losing something, Sam,_ he thought fondly. _What is it this time? Your key? Your comb?_

He could hear Sam's soft panting as he worked, and then the lilting tune of Rosie's voice interrupted, called his friend's name. Gripping the wet railing, Frodo's vision clouded as baby Eleanor's delightful giggle burst forth, sounding more like an echo.

"No!" he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut to hold onto the vision. He shivered with the cold and shook his head, longing for the comfort and familiarity of Bag End once again. This time the yearning was so strong that he trembled. The crash of the waves filled his ears as he returned to the present, struck by the realization that he had envied Sam. Though he loved him like a brother, he found himself suddenly consumed with dark envy for Sam's carefree and forgiving nature, knowing full well that although Sam had carried the ring of power it had not touched him with its evil. Sam had somehow escaped its grip, but he had not. Gritting his jaw in anger, he murmured a breathless curse for his own fate.

Appalled at the direction of his thoughts, Frodo raised a hand to his throat and faced his sins, unable to deny them. He envied Sam's life, his easy friendships with other hobbits, his love affair with Rosie and his blessing of becoming a father. Sam had found love and fulfillment, something Frodo had been denied. Fisting his hands, he wrestled with anger and resentment, shaking his head even as he felt the dark emotions grip him.

"...forgive me!" he gasped, bowing his head, "bless them, and prosper them!" he pleaded, fear and guilt overtaking him. But his confession brought no relief, and leaning his elbows upon the railing he buried his face in his hands.


End file.
